vignettes crackanthorpe

7/24/2019 Vignettes Crackanthorpe

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Visfnettes

A

Miniature

Journal

of

Whim

and

Sentiment

By

Hubert

Crackanthorpe

'

'

'.

John

Lane

The

Bodlcy

Head

London

and

New

York

1896


8/96

The

/nirsuit

of

eJ^erience

is

the

refuge

of

the

unimaginative.

k

.

\

.*

'


9/96

Vignettes


10/96

vi


11/96


12/96


13/96

Vignettes

ON

the

roof

of

the

ruined

church

we

lay,

basking

amid

the hot,

powdery

heather ;

the

cinder-coloured

roofs of

the town

flattened

out

be-

neath

us

a

ragged

patch

of

dead,

decayed

colour,

burnt, as

it

seemed,

out

of the

rank, luscious

green

of

the

Rhone

valley.

Overhead,

a

thick,

blue sky

hung

heavy,

and

away

and

away, into

the

steamy

haze of

mid-day

heat,

filtered

the

Tarascon

road,

a

streak

of

dazzling

white.

To

the

east,

the

sun

was

beating

on the sandy

slopes ;

to

the

west,

the

old

Papal

palace,

like a

great,

grey,

sleeping

beast,

lifted

its

long,

bare

back above

the

roofs

of

Avignon.

The

lizards

scurried

from

cranny

to

cranny

across

the

crumbling

wall.

Below,

in

the

cloister,

a

cat

was curled

by a

black

stack

of

brush-

wood.

The

little

place

stood

empty,

and

stillness

seemed

to

have fallen

over all

things.

The

warmth

lulled one

to

a

de-

ATVILLE-

NEUVE-

LES

AVIGNON

April

23


14/96

Vignettes

ATVILLE

NEUVE-

LES

AVIGNON

licious

torpor. I was

thinking

of

the

bustling

Regent

Street pavement, of

the

rumble

of

Piccadilly, of newsboys

yelling special

editions

in

the

Strand,

drowsily

conjuring up

these

and other

commonplace

contrasts.

Then

Jeanne-Marie

Latou began

to speak. She

sat

between

us,

with

her

legs

hunched

under

her

coarse,

colourless skirt,

and

some stray

wisps

of

hair

looking

dingily

yellow

against

the clean white of her

coiffe.

As she

talked,

her

brown

skin puckered

oddly

about her

tiny,

shrunken eyes,

and

her hands

browned

also and squat

clasped

themselves around her

knees.

It was

not often

that

Jeanne-Marie

Latou spoke

French

;

her

vocabulary

was

quite simple

and

limited,

and

every

now

and then, with an

impa-

tient

shake

of

her head, she

would

break

out

into

patois.

She

was

telling

us

of her

nephew

in Tunis

(/

pays

oil on ne

voit

que

des

sauvages

and

of

the

sweetheart


15/96

Vignettes

he

had

left

behind

at

Barbentane

repeating

by

heart,

one

after

another,

his

queer,

bald,

little

letters

how

he

had

been

kicked

by

his

horse

(he

was

a

spahi;

'''xouave

a

cheval^''

she

called

it),

and

had

been

sick

ten days

in

the

hospital

;

and

how,

without

telling

anyone,

she

had

scraped

together

a

hundred

sous

to

send

out

to

him.

Somehow,

irresistibly,

while she

chat-

tered,

I

seemed

to

see

that

soldier

nephew

of hers

broad

and

straight

and

bronzed,

his

fez

stuck

jauntily

on

the

back

of

his

head,

noisily

no^ant

avec

des

camaradcs

with

those

hundred

sous,

which

old

Tante

Latou

had

sent

out to

him.

By-and-byc,

she

related

her

journey

to

Valence,

in

the

time

when she

had

worked

as

a

cherry-packer

for

Madame

Charbonnier

in

the

Rue

Joseph-Vcrnct,

insisting

with

comi-

cal,

energetic

wrinklings

of

her

fore-

head

on

her

contempt

for

the

jargon

de

rArd'eche

She

had

been

to

AT VILLE-

NEUVE

LES

AVIGNON

13


16/96

Vignettes

AT

VILLE-

NEUVE-

AVIGNON

Marseilles,

too,

last

year

that

was

a

great

journey

eighteen

of

them

had

gone

from

Villeneuve,

''femmes

et

filles

et

trois

garfons^

dans

un

train

^ambulant

'

quatre

francs

et

douze

sous,

alter

et

retour

....

Marseilles^

vous

save-z,

Jeanne-Marie

Latou

re-

iterated,

c^st

quelque

chose

....

c^st

quelque

chose

....

c'est

quelque

chose

....

enfin^

c'est

la

plus

jolie

ville

que

fai

trouvee^

Afterwards,

starting

to

recall

by-

gone

times,

she

described

the

breaking

up

of

the

Chartreuse

in

quatre-vingt

dou-ze,

and

the

selling

of

the

whole

building

by

audion

in

the

little

place^

there,

below

us

(not

for

money

no

one

in

the

pays

had

any

money

in

those

days

but

tor

assignats)^

and,

Jeanne-Marie

Latou

explained,

C^w^c

qui

avaient

peur

n'en

prenaient

pas,

et

ceux qui

n

avaient

pas peur

en

pre-

naient.''''

And

her

father,

who

had

been

a

stone-worker,

over

there

at

Les

Angles,

had

bid

douze

cents

francs


17/96

Vignettes

d^assignats

for the house

where the

superieurehzd

lived

douze

cents

francs

d'assignats

which no

one

had

ever

asked

him

to

pay.

There

Jeanne-

Marie Latour

had

always

lived

seventy-seven

years, it was now,

as

near

as

she could

remember

she,

and her

husband

who had

been

dead

these

twenty-three years. She could

remember

the time

when the frescoes

on

the

cloister

walls

were

bright

and

beautiful, and no grass grew

between

the flags.

Yes,

she had seen all the

other houses

pass

from family to

family

;

there

were six of

them

now

who

had

the

right to

use

the old

church as a barn,

w^yi;, elle est

bien

grande^

Peglise^^^

Jeanne-Marie

Latou

concluded,

smiling

knowingly

at

us,

Mais^

quand

7ncme^

Us se

chicanent

toujour

5.

.

. .

And

with

that,

she

rose

slowly

and

bid

us

good-bye,

and

wished

us

good

health, toddling

grotesquely

away

down

the steps.

AT

VILLE-

NEUVE-

LES

AVIGNON


18/96

AT

VILLE

NEUVE-

LES

AVIGNON

ASCEN

SION

DAY

AT

ARLES

Vignettes

After she

had gone,

we

stayed

a

long

while

up on

the hot roof, watch-

ing

the

dark

shadows

creep

from

under the

broken

bridge across the

rippling

Rhone,

as

it

swept past to-

wards

the

sea.

And I

wondered

more

drowsily

than ever

concerning

old

Jeanne-Marie

Latou, and

her

soldier

nephew,

with the spahis^ away

over

there

in

Tunis,

and

that great jour-

ney

of

hers

to

Marseilles

eighteen

of

them

from the dead little town

below,

''^fem?nes

et

jilles

et

trots gar-

^ons^ dans

un train ^ambulant''

quatre

francs

et

dowze

sous^

aller

et

retour^

THE

population pours

out

from

mass,

flooding every

crooked

street

rubicund

peasants

in

starched

Sunday

blouses

;

olive-skinned, Greek-

featured

Arlesiennes

in

quaint,

lace

head-dresses

;

strutting

petits

messieurs


19/96

Vignettes

en chapeau

rond

and

tight-fitting

com-

plets;

shouting

shoals

of

boys

;

zouaves,

indolent

and

superb,

in

flowing

red

knickerbockers,

white

spats,

and

jaun-

tily-poised

fez.

A

bleating

of

lambs,

plaintive,

in-

cessant

and dirge-like,

fills

the P/^c*? du

Forum;

heaped

over

the

gravel they

lie,

their

legs

tied

under

their

bellies,

and their

skinny necks helplessly

out-

stretched:

and

beyond, the great,

green umbrellas

of

a

regiment of

wrinkled beldams

fruit-sellers

en-

camped

in

rows before

their baskets.

. . . .

A

strange

complication of

odours

of

cheese, of

fish

and

of

flowers

floats in

the

air: at

every

alley-corner

some

auctioneer

stands

posted

-

shouting,

perspiring

vendors

of

knives,

pocket-books, glass-cutters,

chromo-

lithographs,

cement,

songs,

sabots. An

old

top-hattcd

Jew

nasally

vaunts a winc-tcsting

fluid, and

tells

horrible

and interminable

tales

of

vin-

tages

manufadtured

from

decayed dates,

ASCEN-

SION

DAY

AT

ARLES


20/96

8

ASCEN

SIGN

DAY

AT

ARLES

Vignettes

from vinegar

aiid

sugar,

or

from

plaster-

of-Paris ; a

travelling pedicure operates

on

the box-seat

of

a

gorgeously-painted

van,

to

the

accompaniment of

a

big

drum and

clashing

cymbals

;

the inevi-

table strong

man

defiantly

challenges

the crowd

to

split

a

flag-stone across

his

bare,

hirsute chest ; and a

blind-folded

fortune-telling

wrench

chaunts with

mechanical

shamelessness

the young

men's

amorous

indiscretions.

Outside the

town, the

boulevard

is

gay

with the

glitter of pedlars'

wares,

and

flapping, gaudy

stuffs, red,

green

and yellow and blue

;

travelling

show-

men

are

bustling

with

final

prepara-

tions, hammering

together their

skele-

ton

booths, or

unfolding gaunt rolls

of

battered

canvas

; the

steam-orchestra

of a

Grand

Musee

fin

de

siecle bellows

from

its

rows

of

brass-mouthed

trum-

pets

a deafening,

wheezy

tune

;

and

everywhere, beneath

the tunnel

of pale

green

plane-trees, a

thick,

drifting

tide

of

men

and

women.


21/96

Vignettes

OF

a

sudden

it

seems to have come

the

poplars

fluttering their

golden

green

;

the

fruit-trees

tricked

out in

fete-day

frocks of frail snow-

white

;

the

hoary

oaks uncurling

their

baby leaves

;

and the

lanes all littered

with

golden

broom.

. .

.

The

blue flax

sways like

a sensi-

tive

sea;

the violets

peep from

amid

the moss

;

beneath

every

hedgerow

the

primroses

cluster

;

and

the

rivulets

tinkle

their shrill, glad

songs.

. .

.

Dense levies

of

orchises empurple

the

meadows,

where the

butterflies

hasten

their

wavering flight

;

the

sun-

light

breathes

through the pale-lcafcd

woods;

and

the air

is

sweet

with

the

scent of the

spring, and

loud

with the

humming

of wings.

.

.

.

It

lasts

but

a

week

a fleeting

mood

of

dainty gaiety

; a

quick discarding

of the brown

shabbincss

of

winter

for

a

smiling

array of

white

and

gold,

frcsh-grcen,

and

turquoisc-blue.

.

.

.

SPRING

IN

BEARN

May I


22/96

lO

SPRING

IN

BEARN

IN THE

LONG

GRASS

May

13

Vignettes

And

then,

it

has

flitted,

and through

the

long,

parched

months

re-

lentlessly

blazes the

summer

sun.

A

MYSTERIOUS,

impenetrable

jungle

of green stems,

quiver-

ing

with the

play

of

a

myriad

baby

shadows.

A

close

crowd

of

flowers

naive-faced,

white-cheeked daisies

buttercups,

glistening

gold ;

dande-

lions like

ragged

medallions

;

stubbly

bearded

thistles

;

sleek-stalked orchises,

white,

and

mauve, and purple

;

corpu-

lent, heavy-leafed

clover,

and skinny

ragged

robin. And,

topping them all,

the

languidly nodding

heads of

a

thou-

sand

seeded grasses, and the dishevelled

crests of the

red

sorrel.

.

. .

A

ceaseless

humming

of

wings

deep-toned and solemn,

cheerily

bus-

tling,

high-pitched and

idle.

.

.

.

Hidden

in

the green-stemmed jun-


23/96

Vignettes

gle, a

world

of

creatures

silently busy

hurrying

ants

;

heavy, gray cock-

chafers,

drowsily

lumbering

;

tiny,

red

spiders,

fidgeting

from

blade to

blade

;

grasshoppers,

with

their

great sensitive

eyes,

humanly

expressive

;

shiny,

black

beasts,

wriggling

their

scuttling

bodies;

fierce-looking

flying

things, their vivid

red

bodies,

now

poised

motionless,

now

darting

capriciously

to and

fro.

One

after

another they

come

for

a

peep

at me.

A

pair

of

blue-bottles,

chasing

one

another,

dash past

;

a

furry

bee

chaunts

lustily as

he

bustles

from

flower

to

flower;

and

dark,

evil-

looking

flics hover,

hanging

their

long,

sneaking

legs.

. . .

I

WENT

there

again

to-day;

but

I

did

not

see

her.

It

is

a

year

now

since

I

met

her,

sitting

alone

before

her

basket,

in a

corner

of

the

deserted square.

Her

face

was

tanned

II

IN THE

LONG

GRASS

I'AU

May

14


24/96

12

PAU

Vignettes

deep

russet,

and

wrinkled

to

a

tragic

listlessncss

;

she had

eyebrows

white

as

clean linen, and full-veined,

tremu-

lous

hands.

When

I

first

spoke to

her,

I

did not

know that she was

blind.

She

pulled

some

handkerchiefs

from

her

basket, and offered them

to

me

in

a

quavering,

far-away

voice,

explaining

that she

had

hemmed

them

herself;

for she had been

brought up

as

a

coutur'iere.

I

asked

her

how

long

she had

been

blind

:

It

is

forty-eight

years since

I

saw

anything,

monsieur.

When

I was

young

I

had

a

great

trouble

For

eighteen months

I

wept,

and

when

I

went

back to

work,

my eyes

were worn

out, and

I

could see

no

more

It is forty-eight

years

now,

monsieur^

since I

saw

anything.

.... Heureusement.,

il

riy

en a

plus

pour

longtemps

. . .

.

ce

sera

bientot

fini.

. .

.

She

spoke

simply,

and

with

quiet

dignity

; though

I

could see

that she


25/96

Vignettes

was

crying

a

little,

as

she

fingered

her

handkerchiefs

with

her

full-

veined,

tremulous

hands.

FROM

afar

off,

high

against

the

sky,

we

could

sec

the

ragged

line

of its

roofs,

like

an

ancient,

tat-

tered

crest

along

the

back

of a

preci-

pitous,

inaccessible-looking

hill.

To

reach

it

we

waded

the

Luys

de

France,

with

the

water

swishing

under

our

horses'

bellies,

and

climbed

a

mule-track,

tight-paved

with

cob-

bles,

waywardly

winding

beneath

the

contorted

limbs

of

leafy,

Spanish

chestnuts.

The

track

led

us

around

the

outside of

the

village,

close

under

the

shadow

of

its

houses

discoloured-

ycllow

and

musty-white,

fissured

and

bcstained,

battered

and

starved,

till

everywhere

their

bones

protruded,

bulging,

bursting

beams.

Low,

sloping

roofs,

moss-grown.

13

PAU

CASTEL-

SARRA-

SIN

May

17


26/96

H

Vignettes

CASTEL-

SARRA-

SIN

the

colour of

old

gold,

over-lapped

the walls,

like

huge,

ill-fitting

caps

shading row

upon

row of wooden

balconies,

filled

with

a

decrepid mul-

titude of

things,

which,

it

seemed,

could

never

have been

new

broken

earthenware pots ; ricketty

rush-bot-

tomed chairs

;

strips of old

linen

;

worn-out

bass brooms ; stacks

of

dead

branches.

. . .

Two

geese,

a

yellow

dog,

and

a

little

black

pig had the village

street

all

to

themselves. The clock

on

the

tower

of

the

whitewashed church

pointed half-past

ten,

though

the

twilight had

not

yet come.

And

our

horses' hoofs

clattered,

almost

brutally,

past the

dank-smelling,

mud-

floored

rooms,

and the

cracked, worm-

eaten

shutters, wearily

moaning with

the

dull fatigue

of

stiff-jointed

old

age.

Toiling

up

the

hill,

on

the other

side,

we

met

a crooked

old woman,

barefooted,

clad

in a

single

frayed


27/96

Vignettes

shirt,

carrying

a

truss

of

sainfoin

on

her

head.

Adechats^''

she

mumbled

mechani-

cally,

and

toiled

on

barefooted

up

the

stony

path,

steadying

the truss

of

sainfoin

with both

hands. . .

.

15

CASTEL-

SARRA-

SIN

IN

THE

BASQUE

May

23

ALL

day

an

intense

impression of

lusty

sunlight, of

quivering

country

golden-green

.... a

long,

white

road

that

dazzles,

between

its

rust-

ling

dark-green

walls

;

blue

brawling

rivers;

swelling

upland

meadows,

flower-thronged,

luscious

with

tall,

cool

grass;

the

shepherd's

thin-toned

pipe ; the

ragged

flocks,

blocking

the

road,

cropping

at

the

hedge-rows

as

they hurry

on

towards

tlie

mountains

;

the

slow,

straining

teams

of

jangling

mules

wine-carriers

coming

from

Spain ;

through

dank,

cobbled

vil-

lage streets,

where

the

pigs

pant


28/96

i6

Vignettes

IN

THE

BASQUE

COUNTRY,

IN

THE

LANDES

May

27

their

bellies in

the

roadway,

and

the

sandal-makers

flatten

the hemp be-

fore

their

doors ; and

then, out

again

into

the

lusty

sunlight,

along the

straight,

powdery

road that

dazzles

ahead

interminably

towards

a

myste-

rious,

hazy

horizon,

where

the

land

melts into the

sky.

.

.

.

And,

at

last, the cool

evening

scents

;

soft shadows

stealing

beneath

the

still,

silent

oaks

;

and,

all

at

once,

a

sight of the

great

snow-mountains,

vague,

phantasmagoric, like a

mirage

in

the sky

;

and

of

the

hills, all

indigo,

rippling

towards a

pale

sunset of

liquid

gold.

SINCE

sunrise

I

had

been

travel-

ling

along

the

straight-stretch-

ing

roads,

white with summer

sand,

interminably

striped by the shadows

of

the

poplars ;

across the

great,


29/96

Vignettes

parched

plain,

where,

all the day's

length,

the

heat

dances

over the

waste

land,

and

the

cattle

bells

float

their

far-away

tinkling;

through

the

desolate

villages,

empty

but

for

the

beldames,

hunched

in

the

doorways,

pulling

the flax

with

horny,

tremu-

lous

fingers;

and

on

towards

the

de-

solate

silence

of the

flowerless

pine-

forests.

. . .

And

there

the

night

fell.

The

sun

went

down unseen

;

a

dim

flickering

ruddled

the

host

of

tree

trunks

;

and

the

darkness

started

to

drift

through

the

forest.

The

road

grew

narrow

as

a

footpath,

and

the

marc

slacken-

ing

her

pace,

uneasily

strained

her

white

neck

ahead.

Out

of

the

darkness

a

figure

sprang

beside mc.

A

shout

rang

out^

^words

of

an

uncouth

patois

that

I

did

not

understand.

And

the

mare,

terrified,

galloped

forward,

snorting,

and

swerv-

ing

from

side

to

side. . .

.

And

a

strange,

superstitious

fear

17

IN

THE

LANDES


30/96

i8

Vignettes

IN

THE

LANDES

CETTE

June

J,

Midday

crept over me

a

dreamy

dread

of

the

future

; a

helpless

presentiment

of

evil

days

to come

; a

sense,

too,

of the

ruthless

nullity of

life,

of

the

futile

deception

of

effort,

of

bitter

re-

volt

against

the extindlion

of death,

a

yearning after faith in

a vague

sur-

vival beyond. . . .

And the words

of

the

old proverb

returned

to

me

mockingly:

The

eye is

not

satisfied

with

seeing,

nor

the ear with

hearing.

A

PURE

stretch

of

sky

;

aflatsweep

of

sea

;

cobalt-blue,

rich and

opaque,

pervading

all

things.

In the

harbour, battered,

blue-painted

barges,

their

decks

loaded

with

oranges;

barge-

men

in blue

blouses,

asleep

across the

glaring

pavement

;

and

along

the

quay,

indefinitely,

as

far

as

the

eye

can reach,

row

upon

row of

barrels,

repeating

from their

up-turned

ends

the

same


31/96

Vignettes

19

stifling

note

of

colour.

. . .

The

sea

licks

the

jetty

wall,

lazily,

rhyth-

mically

:

everywhere a

sensation

of

listless

oppression,

of life-

less

torpor.

.

.

.

I

HAVE

sat

there,

and

seen

the

winter

days

finish

their

short-

spanned

lives,

and

all

the

globes

of

light,

crimson,

emerald,

and

pallid

yellow,

start,

one

by

one,

out

of

the

russet

fog that

creeps

up

the

river.

But

I

like

the

place

best

on

these

hot

summer

nights,

when

the

sky

hangs

thick

with

stifled

colour, and

the

stars

shine

small

and

shyly.

For

then

the

pulse

of the

city

is

hushed,

and

the

scales

of

the

water

flicker

golden

and

oily

under the

watching

regiment

of

lamps.

The

bridge

clasps

its

gaunt arms

tight from

bank

to

bank,

and

the

shuffle

of

a

retreating

CETTE

ON

CHELSEA

EMBANK-

MENT

June

26

C


32/96

20

ON

CHELSEA

EMBANK-

MENT

PLEA-

SANT

COURT

June

28

Vignettes

figure

sounds

loud

and

alone

in the

quiet.

. . .

There,

if you

wait

long enough,

you

may

hear

the

long

wail

of the

siren,

that

seems

to

tell

of

the

an-

guish of

London,

till

a

train

hurries

to

throttle

its

dying note,

roaring

and

rushing,

thundering

and

blazing

through

the

night,

tossing its white

crest

of

smoke, charging

across

the

bridge, into the dark

country

beyond. . .

.

I

T

is

known

only

to

the inhabitants

of

the

quarter.

To

find

it, you

must

penetrate

a

winding

passage,

wedged

between high walls of

dismal

brick.

Turn

to the right by the

blue-lettered advertisement

of

Kop's

Ale,

and

again to the left

through

the

two

posts, and you come

to

Pleasant-court.

And when

you

are


33/96

Vignettes

21

there,

you

can

go

no

farther

;

for

at

the

far

end

there

is

no

way

out.

There

are

thirteen

houses

in Plea-

sant-court

seven

on

the

one

side,

and

six

on the

other.

They

are

alike,

every

one

;

low-w^alled

as

country

cottages;

built

of

blackish

brick,

with a

six-foot

plot

before

each,

and

slate

roofs

that

glimmer

wanly

on

the

wet,

winter

mornings.

But

winter

is

not

the season

to

see

Pleasant-court

at

its

best.

The

drain-sluice

is

always

getting

choked,

so

that

pools

of

mud

and

brown wa-

ter

loiter

near

the

rickety

fence that

flanks

each

six-foot

enclosure

;

and,

at

Christmas-time,

most

everyone

is

a

bit

out,

and

young

Hyams

in

the

Walworth-road

stacks

half his

back

shop

with

furniture

from

Plea-

sant-court

;

and

all

day

long

the

chil-

dren

of the

lodger

at

No.

5

never

stop

squalling

with

chapped

faces,

and

the

Lowser's

wife

makes

much

com-

motion at

nights,

threatening to

set-

PLEA-

SANT

COURT


34/96

22

PLEA-

SANT

COURT

Vignettes

tie

her husband, and sending

her

four

children

to

clatter

about

the

pavement.

In the summer,

however,

everyone

smartens

up,

and

by

the

time

that

sultry

June

days

have

come. Plea-

sant-court

attempts a rural air.

On

the

left-hand

side

a

jaded

creeper

pushes its

grimy

greenery

under

the

w^indows ;

some

of

the grass plots

grovi^

quite bushy with

tough,

wiz-

ened

stalks;

and

the geranium

pots

at

No.

7

strike flaming

specks

of

vermilion.

Last

March

the

Lowscr

and

his

wife

and

his

four

children

moved

over

to

Southwark

; the lodger

at

No.

5

is in

work

again ;

and

now

the

quiet

of seclusion

is

restored

to

Pleasant-court.

The

children

sprawl

the

afternoon

through

on

the

hot

alley

floor

;

Mrs.

Hodgkiss

hangs her washing

to bulge

and flap across the

court, like

a

line

of white banners

; and

on

the

airless


35/96

Vignettes

evenings, the women, limp,

with

their

straggling

hair, and loose,

bedraggled

skirts,

lean

their

bare, fleshy

elbows

over the

fence,

lingering

to gossip

before

they

go

to dinner.

And on

Saturday

nights,

the in-

habitants

of

Pleasant-court troop

out

to join

the rumble

and the

rattle

of

the Walworth-road,

and

to

swell the

life that shuffles

down

its

pavement,

past

the

flaring

naphtha

lights,

the

stall-keepers bawling

in

the

gut-

ter,

and every

shop ablaze

with gross

jets of

gas.

THESE

are

their

names

Car-

lotta, Lubella,

Belinda,

Aniin-

ta,

Clarissa.

By

the

old

bowling-

green

they

stand,

a

little pompously

perhaps,

with

a

slight

superfluity

of

dignity,

conscious

of

their

own

full,

comely contours

a

courtly

group of

rotund dames.

Heavy

Carlotta,

the

23

PLEA-

SANT

COURT

THE FIVE

SISTKR

PANS

Its

August

19


36/96

24

Vignettes

THE

FIVE

SISTER

PANSIES

OUR

LADY

OF

THE

LANE

Sept.

17

eldest, lover of blatant luxury,

over-

blown,

middle-aged,

in

her

gown of

rich

magenta,

all

embroidered

with

tawdry

gilt

;

Lubella, wearing portly

velvet

of

dark

purple,

sensual, indo-

lent, insolent

as

an

empress

of old,

gleaming

her thin,

yellow

eye

;

in-

significant

Belinda,

bedecked

in

silly,

sentimental

mauve,

all

for dallying

with the

facile gossip of

galanterie,

gushing,

giggling,

gullible

;

unso-

phisticated

Aminta,

with

tresses

of

flaming

gold,

amiable and

obvious

as

a

common

stage heroine

;

and

Cla-

rissa, the

youngest,

slyly

smirking

the

while, above

her

frock

of

milk-white

innocence.

WHENEVER

the

London

sun

touches

the

small,

dusky

shops

with

a

jumble

of

begrimed

colour

the old

gold

and

scarlet

of

hanging

meat

;

the

metallic

green

of


37/96

Vignettes

mature

cabbages;

the

wavering

rus-

set of

piled

potatoes

;

the

sharp

white

of

fly-bills,

pasted

all

awry

then

the

moment

to

see

her is

come.

You

will

find

her,

bareheaded

and

touzled

her

dingv,

peaked

shawl

hanging

down

her

back,

and

in

front

the

bellying

expanse

of

her

soiled

apron

;

blocking

the

pavement

;

established

by

her

own

corner

of

the

Lane,

all

littered

with

the

cries

of

children,

and

the

fitful

throbbing

of

the

asphalte

beneath

the

hollow

hammering

of

hoofs.

She

carries

always

a

baby

by

her

breast

;

her

bare

forearms

are as

bulky as

any

man's;

in her

eyes

is

a

froward

scowl

;

and,

when

she

laughs,

it

is

with a

harsh,

strident

gaiety.

But

she

never

fails to

wear

her

squalid

portliness

with

a

robust

and

defiant

dignity,

that

makes

her

figure

definitely

symbolic

of

Cockney

maternity.

25

OUR

LADY OF

THE

LANE


38/96

26

ON THE

COAST OF

CALVA-

DOS

Sept.

26

Vignettes

THE

leaden

sea plashed her

indo-

lent

rhythm

:

all

along

the

lonely shore

the

orchards

stood

mo-

tionless, sombre,

metallic-looking

in

the

lifeless,

thunder-charged

air

;

and

amid

a rugged

flare

of

smoky flame,

the

sun went down

in the

West.

A baby breeze rustled past, fleeing

before the

distant

storm :

then, all

grew still

again.

w

hile.

across the

horizon,

a

quiet

rift

broke,

revealing

a

long,

lurid

line

of fantastic

coast

mysterious, desolate

valleys, and

ragged

towering

cliffs.

The

leaden

sea plashed her

indo-

lent

rhythm

;

and

the bleak

bulk

of

a steamer,

pitching in the

offing.

beast in

distress,

again, fresh

and

cool.

moved

like

a

And

once

carrying

the

scent of

the

storm, the

breeze

came

fleeing, trailing

an inky

stain

over

the

sea

;

and

across the

West

there defiled

a

vague squadron

of

gigantic

pillars

of rain.

The

parched

trees

swayed

their


39/96

Vignettes

27

boughs, uneasily

whispering

j

and,

of

a

sudden,

wrapping

all

things

in

a

dense

shroud of dark-grey

mist,

clat-

tered the

ponderous

rain.

And

overhead,

on,

through

the

growing

night, tlic

white,

jagged

flashes

of lightning,

and

the

frenzied

flight of

the

screaming wind,

and

the

dull

booming

of

thunder

told

of

the

great,

distant

battle

of

the

clouds.

A

MAUVE

sky,

all

subtle;

a

dis-

creet

rusticity,

daintily

modern,

femininely

delicate;

a whole

finikin

arrangement of

trim trees,

of rectan-

gular

orchards,

of tiny,

spruce

houses,

tall-roofed and

pink-faced,

with

white

shutters

demurely

closed.

Here

and

there

a prim

farmyard;

a

squat

church-spire;

and

blouscd

peasants

jogging

behind

rotund

white

horses,

ON

THE

COAST

OK

CALVA-

DOS

IN

NOR-

MANDY

Sept.

30


40/96

28

IN

NOR-

MANDY

Vignettes

along

a straight

and gleaming

road.

In all the

landscape

no trace

of

the

slovenly

profusion of

the

pifturesque

;

but

rather

a distinguished

reticence

of

detail,

fresh,

coquettish,

almost

dapper.

I

PARIS

IN

OCTOBER

October

4

PARIS

in

Oaober

all

white and

a-glitter

under

a cold, spark-

ling

sky, and

the

trees

of the

boule-

vards

trembling

their

frail,

russet

leaves;

garish,

petulant

Paris;

com-

placently

content

with her

sauntering

crowds,

her

monotonous

arrangements

in

pink

and

white and blue; ever

busied

with

her

own

publicity, her

tiresome,

obvious

vice, and her

parochial

modernity

coquetting

with

cosmopolitanism.

. . .


41/96

Vignettes

29

O

TRIPS

of

ruddy

earth:

poplars

la

cOte

FROM

THE

'

TRAIN

Vs3

flecked

with

gold,

and

vine

yards

with

autumn

red;

the dark

sleek

Saone;

and

beyond,

the pale

green

plain, spacious

and

smooth,

stretching

away and away

towards

j

the

blue haze

that

wraps

the

Cote

d'Or,

hesitating and soft as

the lines

of a

woman's

body.

The sun

sets,

trailing

a

wash

of

pale,

watery

gold

;

torn,

inky

clouds

spatter the

sky; sombre

shadows

fill

the

acacia-groves ;

and

on, on,

pounds

the

train,

untiring,

rhythmically

throbbing.

October 6

o

Tout

paysaf^e

est

un dial

d\ime.

FTEN

must

Amicl,

who

lived

lausan-

his

life

on tlie shores

of

this

great

lake,

have brooded

over

her

moods.

Deep-blue,

she lies

plunged

^tocr:

in

silent

meditation

;

wrapped in

the

opal-tinted

mists

of

evening,

she


42/96

30

LAUSAN-

NE

OLD

MAR

SEILLES

AT

MIDDAY

October lo

Vignettes

dreams

the vague,

glad

dreams

of

fancy

;

now

she

smiles,

she

laughs

even,

as little

ripples,

all gilded by

the

sun-rays,

trip

across her surface

;

she

has

her

grey

days

of

gloom,

and

her

dark

days

of despair : she

has also

her jours

defete^

and herjours de

grande

toilette^

under

a

sky heavy-loaded

with

blue : often, in the

moonlight, she lies

white,

tranquil,

statuesque,

like

a

beau-

tiful, sleeping

woman

:

at

times

her

humour

is

bewilderingly capricious

the fleeting, furious

rages

of a

spoilt

child

sweep

across her

;

or,

ink-

coloured, she

sulks during

long

hours,

sullenly

wrathful.

UP

every

staircase-street

dark

crevasses, pinched

between

tall,

peeling

cliffs

;

along

the

quay,

flaunting,

tattered,

brawling

colours,

sweating

and

swarming

with noisy life

negroes.

Chinamen,

Arabs, Lascars,


43/96

Vignettes

Italians, Greeks

the

angry

hum

of

a

thousand tongues

and the clatter

of

straining

mules.

... At midday,

when all

the smooth

stone

pavement

lies

bathed

in lusty

sunshine,

you

may feel

the pulse

of old

Marseilles

quicken

to

fever-heat

its turbulent

throbbing.

.

.

.

Across the

sea,

polished

as

a

pool

of

molten

metal,

the Southern

sun

strews

his

golden

highway

;

the

frail

forest

of

masts

stiffens,

congealed

like

a

fine

etched

pattern

; side by side

lie

the

herds

of steamers,

silent,

drowsy,

vermilion-

bellied

beasts;

and

over

there,

to the

left, high

above the

city,

the

slim

sil-

houette

of

Notrc-Dame

de la

Garde

shows

a

glimmer of

dusky

gilt.

,

.

.

Oh

for

the

crude

crowd

of bla-

tant hues

and

the flood

of

fierce

vitality

that

belong

to

old

Marseilles

at

midday

31

OLD

MAR-

SEILLES

AT

MIDDAY


44/96

32

MONTE

CARLO

October

15

Vignettes

HIGH,

beneath

the

lofty dome

of

sullen

sky, like

a

great

white

globe

of

elc6lric light, the

full

moon

hangs ; beyond

the bay, the

twinkling

lights

of

Monaco

are

dropping

long

golden

tears

into the

sea :

no

breath

of breeze to

sway

the

black

drooping

palms

;

only

the

full,

solemn

phrase of

Gounod's

Ave

Maria,

slowly recurring

to linger

in

the

still,

grave air

of

the night.

. .

The

moonbeams

spangle

with

silver

the

twin minarets

of

the

temple

of

Chance ;

and

stately

officials swing

back

its portals

to

meet

the silent tide

of

worshippers

that

ceaselessly

ebbs

and

flows, blackening the broad

flight

of

marble steps.

Within,

through

the

great

marble

vestibule, where the

shuffle

of

feet

rings

hollow,

they

hurry

to

huddle

around

the

bright green

shrines of

the

goddess,

to

await,

with tense,

yellow

faces, the

unflagging

tide

of

her

relentless caprices.


45/96

Vignettes

33

I

SAT on the terrace of the old

palace, waiting for the coming

of the rain-clouds. The sunshine was

gone,

and

with

it the

city's witty

sparkle;

the

sirocco's

breath

puffed

warm and moist ; and Florence, all

ruddled

and

sullen, lay

chaunting her

ponderous

notes of

bronze.

Below,

knee-deep

in

the

yellow,

straggling stream, a

fisherman

swayed

his

net,

slowly

straining

the

supple

framework

;

and while

I

watched him,

of

a

sudden,

a

fitful longing

to see

tJic

place

again

laid hold of

me

to

sec it, just

as

it

had been

last year, on

that mellow September afternoon, all

garnished with

soft

light, all

fragrant

with coquettish

simplicity

and pleas-

ant, prosperous peace.

And

soon,

as

the sky

darkened, and

the rain-clouds

a

sombre, swelling

herd

gathered

above

the

cypresses

of

San

Miniato,

I

seemed to hear the organ's stately

roll,

and

to

perceive,

through

the

obscurity

of the

half-darkened chapel,

AT THE

CERTOSA

DI

VAL

D'EMA

October

20


46/96

34

AT THE

CERTOSA

DI VAL

D'EMA

Vignettes

a

crowding

circle

of

white-robed

figures.

The

chaunt of

the

church

bells beat

the

air

:

all else

seemed

stilled

love and the

quickening joy

of

life

and

with

a

sort

of

childish

incon-

sequence,

bred perhaps

of

the

curious,

literary habit,

I

fell

to

envying

them

a

littlethose

tall, white-robed

fathers

their

miniature

rows

of

monkish

gardens,

and their

solitary

pacings

beneath

the

pale-lemon

cloisters. .

.

So I

started

to

go

there,

rattling

through the dust

in the

face

of

the

coming storm.

By

the

roadside,

the

grey

olives

matched the

sky

;

all

around,

the

vines

hung

delicately

dying,

drooping in tired

curves

their

fragile garlands of

pallid-gold

leaves

and

here and

there

peeped specks

of

scarlet, like

lingering

traces of

some

bygone

y?/^.

But, before

we

had

climbed

the

hill,

the

rain came

a

deliberate

pre-

lude

of

monstrous

drops ;

and a

veil,

as

of grey

gauze, blurred the

white-


47/96

Vignettes

35

CERTOSA

DI

VAL

D'EMA

faced villas

peoplins; the

hill-sides,

and

at

the

changed the cypresses to dim,

spiky

sentinels.

.

It was Brother Agostino who

came

to the

gate,

greeting

me,

so

I

fancied,

with

a

quick

smile of

recognition

then,

before

the

groups of

noisy

village

youths and raffish, Florentine

cabmen,

who

encumbered the

corridor,

his

features

dropped

back

to

the patient

vacancy

of

habitual

fatigue.

Over

the tiled

floor

of the

cloister-

court rattled

the dance of tJie rain

;

the

great

well, over-grown

with

rank

grass,

wore

a

forlorn,

decrepit

air

and

a musty scent, as of

approaching

decay,

floated

over

the

vast

garden.

In

the chapel,

a

band of

blatant

Americans

joined

us,

listening com-

placently to

Brother

Agostino's

per-

fundtory explanations

concerning

the

frescoes,

the

stained-glass

windows,

the

exquisite

tomb

of tlie

monastery's

founder.

And the

place seemed

all changed

D


48/96

36

AT THE

CERTOSA

DI

VAL

D'EMA

MORN-

ING

AT

CASTEL-

LO

October

30

Vignettes

its fine distindlion was

gone:

the

old

Certosa

exposed to the

hurried

gaze

of

every

passing tourist

;

and stern-

faced Brother

Agostino,

footsore

and

weary,

degraded

to

the

role

of a

common,

obsequious

guide.

THE

morning's

breath tastes

cool

and

clean.

The

distant

hills

seem

yet

asleep,

tranquil and dark

a

long,

low,

wavering

wall. Above

the

plain

floats a

lingering,

pearly

film,

and

the

air

grows

busy

with

a

vague

rumour

of

awakening

life

the

rumble

of wheels, the cracking

of

whips,

the

plaintive

whistling

of

far-ofF

trains.

On

its way

to

Florence

the early

train

swings

by

;

hordes of

brown-

skinned,

bare-footed ciiildren

sprawl

noisily

along

all the street

;

the men

lean

idly watching

the

ceaseless

tale


49/96

Vignettes

of

lean

barrocci^

lumbering,

jolting

over

the crooked

flags; and

before

every open doorway

the w^omen group

their

chairs,

to

sit at their

straw-

plaiting the long

day

through.

.

. .

Beyond, across the

dusty-green

of

countless

olives,

you

can

see

the

glit-

tering

roofs of

Florence,

the Duorno's

burly

dome,

and

the pale outline of

Giotto's

tower ;

but

it is

rather the

sense

of old-world

slowness,

the

con-

tinual

accumulation of

friendly, trivial

incident,

that makes the intimate

charm

of

this

suburban

street ....

THE

young

moon hangs

amid

a

steely

sky

;

the laud, empty

and

darkening,

rolls

like

a

billowing

sea

towards

the

Western

orange

glow

;

and

iiigh

behind

us

the

tall

hill

lifts

Perugia's

ragged

silhouette.

Down

the

steep

road

they

came

37

MORN-

ING

AT

CASTEL-

LO

IN THE

CAMI'O

SANTO

AT

PERUGIA

November

i


50/96

38

Vignettes

IN

THE

j

grave

bourgeois;

bands of

brown-faced

SANTO

AT

youths,

chewing

thin

cigars;

aged

PERUGIA

pejisant-women,

with

faded, wrinkled

eyes ;

chattering

country-girls, gaudy

handkerchiefs

around

their

hair

;

tod-

dling

children

;

uncouth

men

from

the

mountains, sullenly

wrapped

in

fur-trimmed

cloaks,

while, posted

in

rows

on

either

side,

the

crippled

beggars

offer

their

dusty

hats,

and

whine for

charity in

the

Virgin's

name.

Before

the

red

gate

of the Campo

Santo

the crowd

surges

;

within,

every

alley

is

black

with the press

of people.

It

is

the

day

of

the dead.

To

visit

the

dead

all the

town

is come.

. .

.

The

pale specks of

a

myriad,

tiny

lamps ; the

glow

of

garlands

against

the

crowding

slabs

of

snow-

white

marble, that mark the child-

ren's

graves

;

the

glitter

of

every

small,

spruce

mortuary chapel

; and

the

glad scent of freshly-scattered

flowers.


51/96

Vignettes

Death

loses

its

squalor;

and

becomes

something

demure,

sociable,

almost gay.

.

. .

IN

THE

CAMPO

SANTO AT

PERUGIA

39

NAPLES

IN

NO-

VEMBER

Late

after-

noon

in the

UP

the

squalid,

ill-paved

street,

lumber

the

great

landaus

an

interminable, toiling

stream,

carry-

ing home

from the

corso

the

morose,

sallow-faced

ladies

of

the

Neapolitan

stradadd

...

Chiaja

nobility,

and crushing on either side

the

hedge

of gaping hobblede-

^*'

'

hoys

that

line

the

niggardly

pavement.

HEAPED

beneath

us

all Naples,

white

and

motionless in the

silent

blaze of

the

midday sun

;

cir-

cling

the

bay,

still

and

smooth

and

blue

as the

sky

above, a misty

line

of

white

villages;

dark, velvety

sha-

dows

draping

the

hills;

on

the hori-

Froin

Fosilipo

Nov.

12


52/96

40

Froi

Posilipo

In

the

Strada

del

Porto

Nov.

1

Vignettes

zon,

rising

abruptly,

Capri's

notched

silhouette

tout

semhle suer

la heaute

la

bonne

et

f

ranche

heaute

criarde

des

pays

chauds

europeens.

A

STRIP

of

treacherous

pavement

slimy

with

garbage

;

the

wan

flicker

of

foul

lanterns,

vaguely

re-

vealing the

black

shapes

of

sail-like

awnings

above a

network of

mysteri-

ous

masts; and

the

sodden,

continu-

ous

uproar

of

a

reeking

crowd

hawkers

of fruit, of

fish, of assorted

cigar-ends

fiercely

clamouring

toge-

ther

in

the darkness. . .

.

By-and-bye,

through the

obscu-

rity,

peers the

glossy vermilion

of

piled capsicums,

the scarlet

sparkle

of

bleeding

pomegranates,

and

the

hard

flashing

of

scattered,

silvery

sardines.

Here and

there,

behind

a

chestnut-brazier

that

shoots

long.


53/96

Vignettes

licking

tongues

of ruddy

flame,

the

vacant,

battered

countenance

of

some

a^ed

crone

;

or

amid

a

frenzied

crack-

ing

of

whips

the

clattering

passage

of

a

team

of

trembling

mules,

straining

at

a

lean-shafted,

high-wheeled

cart,

passing

across

the

street,

to

disappear,

engulfed

in

cavernous

blackness,

be-

neath a

noisome

archway.

Bands

of

sailors

jostle

their

way

down

the

alley,

rudely

rebuffing

the

obscene

advances

of

slatternly

women

;

the

night

grows

airless

and

stifling,

under

the

dingy

stars

that

speckle

the

black

strip

of

sky

overhead

;

and

the

street

comes

to

possess a

satanic

fascination,

almost

epic

in

its

in-

tensity.

. .

.

41

In

the

Strada

del

Porto

THE

long

line

of

lamps

casts

countless,

trembling

pillars

of

dusky

gold into the sea:

the

night is

full of

stifled

lighta

pale,

quivering

Moonlight

Nov.

a9


54/96

42

Moonlight

Vignettes

At

the

Theatre

Manzotii

Nov.

26

suffusion

of

mysterious blue.

The

Castello d'Oro

floats,

black as

ink,

like a shapeless hulk ;

across the

empty

sky a solitary,

ghostly

cloud

lies

sleeping

;

somewhere,

beyond the

bay,

the

moonlight

is

dancing

;

and

the

rhythm

of

the

sleek,

rolling

waves

drowsily,

lazily,

rises

and

falls.

A boy and a

girl

lean

together,

watching the waves:

some

mando-

lines start

a

faint

twanging

;

the dis-

tant

rattle of

a

cab

then all

is

quiet

and

the

glow

above

Vesuvius,

sullenly

pulsing,

alone breaks

in

upon

the delicate

serenity

of

the

night.

. . .

I

HAVE

been

to

many first-nights

there,

for

I

have found

a

certain

childish charm

in the

small, shabby,

blue-and-white

theatre,

the

tiers of

minute

boxes,

close-packed with faces,

the

noisy

Neapolitan pit, and the in-


55/96

Vignettes

evitable

row

of

callow

critics,

sucking

their

pencil-stumps,

each

with his

hat

tight-jammed

behind

his

head.

But

especially

there

lingers in

my

mind the

memory

of a

certain

brief,

mediaeval

drama,

where

a

little

flaxen-

haired

lady,

wearing a

low-cut

dress

of

arsenic-green

satin,

passionately

implored

mercy

of a

curly-pated

knight

in

a

shirt

of

maroon-coloured

velvet,

for

a

great

wrong she

had

done

him.

She

wept

piteously,

poor

little

creature,

tearing

tremulously

at

her

fluffy

locks,

and

on

her

knees

appeal-

ing to

us

all

to

help

her. But

the

little

knight

kept

his

wooden

gaze

obdurately

averted

from

her,

till,

ex-

hausted,

she

sank

dying

on to a

gilt-

legged

couch.

The

actors

were

only

marionettes.

The

httle

lady

was

somewhat ob-

viously

painted,

and

the

little

ktiight

stood a

trifle

stiffly,

as

if

suffering

slightly

from

stage-fright.

Hut

the

pit

sat

the scene out

in breathless

43

Ai

the

Thfatre

Manzoni


56/96

44

At

Uic

Theatre

Manzoni

Vignettes

silence, and the row of

callow critics

sucked

their

pencil-stumps

with

re-

newed

vigour, and

jammed their hats

tighter behind their heads. For in

some curious, inexplicable

way

the

thing

was

quite

moving

he

was

so

brutal, the

little

curly-pated

knight

in his shirt

of

maroon-coloured

vel-

vet

;

and

she,

poor,

sobbing,

little

flaxen-haired

lady, pleaded

so

despe-

rately.

.

. .

Once before,

in my childhood,

through

a half-closed

door,

I saw a

girl

plead with

that

same

tense fra-

gility.

She,

too,

had

flaxen hair,

and

wore

a

low-necked dress

of

green

satin

;

and

he,

the

man,

stood

stiffly,

turning

his

gaze

away

from

her,

ob-

durately.

And

each

scene,

as

I

now

compose

them,

seems

to

contain

a

kindred

underlying element

of

grotesque unreality.


57/96

Vignettes

IT

was an old

mill.

There were

white

columns

of peeling

plaster

flanking

the

granary,

and

stacks

of

frowsy

brushwood

blocking

the door.

Part of

it

had

fallen

away ;

tall,

rank

grass

grew

between

the rottening

rafters of the roof;

and

remnants

of battered frescoes,

that had once

adorned

the

walls of

the upper rooms,

were

now

spread bare

to

sun and

wind and

rain.

And the

meal-troughs

were full

of

blossoming

wild-flowers.

Beside

the

mill

stood a small,

square

Moorish

house, roofed

with lava,

scowling

with

dirt; and

beside

the

house,

guarding a

public

well,

was

a

gaunt

crane

of

mouldering

wood.

Across

the

sleekly rippling

mill-stream

a ragged

peasant

family

were

ranged

the

length

of

a

strip of

powdery

soil

the

father,

the mother,

two

sons,

four

daughters,

and a

toddling

child

and

beyond

them

stretched

the

great dead-grey expanse

of

roofless

walls

the sun-dried corpse of

the

45

POMPEII

Nov.

28


58/96

46

POMPEH

IN

THE

HAY

OF

SALERNO

Nov.

30

Vignettes

ruined

Roman

town. In the

twilight

the

sea

lay towards Capri the colour

of

yellow mud

;

and Vesuvius,

turning

a

vague,

velvety black,

was

trickling

his

smoky

breath

towards the

bay.

There was a

great immobility

in

the

airan

immobility that seemed

born

of

long

ages:

and,

somehow,

more

than

the ruined

town

itself

defaced

by German tourists

and

uni-

formed

guides

this

corner

of

the

country

supplied a bitter

sense

of

shortness of life, the

impassive

sloth

of

time.

...

TO

gaze

across the black

sweep

of

sea,

out into the

mystery

of the night

;

to

hear

the

restless

waves slowly

sighing

through

the

darkness,

as

they beat the

rocks

a

thousand

feet beneath ;

to

love

a

little

so, with

quiet

pressure of hands.


59/96

Vignettes

and listlessly to ponder

on strange

meanings

of life and

love

and death.

And

so, amid

a

still

serenity

of

dreamy

sadness,

to forget

the

mad

turmoil of

passion,

to grow

indifferent

to

all

desire,

and

to

wait,

while

the

heart

fills full

of

grave

gratitude

to-

wards an unknown

God.

And then,

once

more,

to

under-

stand how

life

is

but

a

little

thing,

and

love but

a passionate

illusion,

and to

envy

the sea her

sigliing

in

the

days

when

the

end

shall

have

come.

THE

entertainment

draws

to

its

close,

for

it

is

past

four

in the

morning.

In the

hall,

several of

the

oil-lamj->s

have already

sputtered

out

the

rest

arc

burning

with

dull,

blear-

eyed

weariness.

A

score

of

unshaven

Spaniards,

close

muffled

in

capas

and

lowering

sombreros^

sprawl

in

limp

47

IN

THE

BAY

OF

SALERNO

SEVILLE

IJANCING

GIRLS

IJcccmbcrio


60/96

48

SEVILLE

DANCING

GIRLS

Vignettes

attitudes

over

the empty

benches,

and

the

circle

of

gaudy women

that fill

the

stage

sit

listless,

pasty-faced,

som-

nolent.

And

then,

for the last time,

the

frenzy

passes. The

guitars start

their

sudden,

bitter

twanging,

and the

women

their

wild,

rhythmical

beating

of

hands.

Amid volleys

of harsh, frenzied

plaudits

la

Manolita

dances,

swaying

her soft, girlish frame with

a

tense,

exasperated restraint

;

supple

as a

ser-

pent

;

coyly,

subtly

lascivious

;

lan-

guidly

curling

and

uncurling

her

bare

white arms.

Out

in

the

cold

night

air,

as

I

hasten

home through the

narrow,

sleeping streets, her soft, girlish frame

still sways

before

my

eyes,

to

the

bitter twanging

of

guitars.


61/96

Vignettes

TO

ride

alone beneath the

stars,

through the long

indefinite

hours of

the night ;

to climb

the

slumbering

mountain-hulks

; to

hear

the

dull roar of

the river, toiling

unwearied through

the

darkness

be-

low

;

to

break,

with

a

sudden

clat-

tering

of hoofs, the

gloomy

stillness

of

distant

village-streets,

and on through

the

twilight

that

precedes

the

dawn,

to

journey,

without flagging,

high

up

against

the

sky,

across

a

desolate,

limitless plain.

To

scout the future

;

to

unlearn

the

past

; and to

brood

vaguely,

as

the

night

broods.

To

elude

desire; to disdain

the

tlirill of

hate;

to

forget the long

acliing

of

love, and to

commune,

in

tender serenity,

with

the

grave-eyed

Spirit

of

Rest.

And

then,

while the

night slinks

awav

across

the

hills,

to push on

towards

the sunrise;

to

watch the

marshalling

of

ruddy heralds

across

49

SUNRISE


62/96

50

SUNRISE

OFF CAPE

TRAFAL-

GAR

December

i8

Vignettes

the

East,

and

at

last to

meet

the

Great

God's

dazzling

glory,

bursting

in

splendour

across

the

empty land.

WE

paced the bridge

together,

chatting till

his watch

should

be

done.

The

dim,

uneasy

outline

of the

steamer's

bows

loomed

before

us

; now and

again

we could feel

her

pulse

quicken,

her

sinews tighten,

as,

like a living thing, she flinched

from

each

lashing

of the

waves.

He was

telling

me tales

of

the

yellow

fever

at

Rio

de

Janeiro,

of

the crowd of

vessels

lying in the

harbour

without

a soul

on

board,

of

six weeks he

had

spent

in

the hos-

pital

there,

where

twelve hundred

fever-stricken

creatures lay

packed on

the

floor

of

a

single ward, and the

doftors

dared

only

shout to the pa-

tients

from

behind

a

railed gangway.


63/96

Vignettes

And,

while

he

still talked,

up

from

the East

crept the

first

flicker of the

dawn,

revealing flocks

of

ruddy-sailed

smacks tossing off

the Spanish

shore

then,

slowly, the

throng

of black

billows

turned

to

reddish-green,

and

across the sky, from behind the

African

coast,

poured

a

deep,

blood-

red stain.

The mirage rose,

lifting

into

space

the low line of

black

hills,

and the

growing

glow

set a carpet

of cloud

ablaze, till it hung,

stretched

across

the sky,

like

a

vast

awning

of

beaten, burnished copper.

I

DREAMED of an age

grown

strangely

pidturesque

of the

rich enfeebled by monotoiums

ease

of the

shivering poor clamouring

nightly for

justice;

of

a

helpless

democracy,

vast

revolt of

the

ill-

informed

;

of

priests striving

to be

rational

:

of

sentimental

moralists

51

OFF

CAPE

TRAFAL-

GAR

REVERIE

December

35

E


64/96

52

REVERIE

IN

RICH-

MOND

PARK

Vignettes

prote6ling iniquity

;

of middle-class

princes

;

of

sybaritic saints

;

of

com-

placent

and

pompous

politicians

;

of

dodlors

hurrying

the

degeneration of

the race

;

of artists discarding

possi-

bilities for

limitations; of

pressmen

befooling

a

pretentious public

;

of

critics

refining

upon

the 'busman's

methods

;

of

inhabitants of

Camber-

well chattering of culture.

And

I

dreamed

of this

great,

dreamy

London

of

ours

; of

her myriad

fleet-

ing moods

; of the charm

of her por-

tentous

provinciality

;

and

I

awoke

all

a-glad and hungering

for

life.

IN

the

wan,

lingering

light of

the

winter

afternoon,

the

park stood

all

deserted

;

sluggishly

drowsing, so

it

seemed,

with its

spacious

distances

muffled

in

greyness ;

colourless,

fabu-

lous,

blurred.

One by

one,

through


65/96

Vignettes

the damp,

misty air,

loomed

the tall,

stark,

lifeless,

elms.

Overhead

there

lowered a

turbid sky, heavy-charged

with

an unclean

yellow.

And,

amid

the

ruddy patches

of

dank

and

rotten-

ing bracken,

the

little

mare

picked

her

way

noiselessly.

The

rumour

of

life

seemed

hushed

; there

was

only

the

vague, listless rhythm

of the

creak-

ing

saddle.

.

. .

The

daylight

faded

; a

shroud of

ghostly mist enveloped

the

earth,

and

up

from the vaporous dis-

tance crept

slowly

the even-

ing darkness.

. . .

I

T

was

New Year's

eve.

The

old,

old

scene.

A

London

night;

a

heavy-brown

atmosphere

splashed

with

liquid,

golden

lights; the

bustling

mar-

ket-place

ofsin

;

asilent

crowd of black

figures

drifting

over

a

wet,

flickering

pavement.

53

IN

RICH-

MOND

PARK

NEW

YKARS

EVE

December

31


66/96

54

NKW

YEAR'S

EVE

Vignettes

The slow, grave

notes from

a

church

tower

took command

of the night.

The last one

faded

:

the

old

year

had

slipped

by.

And then a woman

laugh-

ed

a

strident,

level laugh

;

and

there

swept through

all the

crowd a

mad,

feverish

tremor.

The women ran

one

to the

other,

kissing,

wildly welcom-

ing the

New

Year

in

;

and the men,

shouting

thickly,

snatched at them

as

they

ran.

And

the

cabmen

touted

eagerly

for

fares.

Across the

road, by

a

corner, a

street

missionary

stood

on

a

chair

an

undersized,

poorly

clad

man, with

a

wizened, bearded face.

...

Repent

. .

.

repent

. .

.

and

save your

souls

to-night from the

eternal

torments

of

hell-fire.

The

women

jostled

him,

pelted him

with

foul gibes

;

and

one

a

young

girl

broke

into a

peal

of

hysterical

laughter.

And I

mused

wonderingly

on

the ugliness of sin.


67/96

Vignettes

A

SULLEN

glow

throbs over-

head

:

golden

will-o'-wisps

are

threading their

shadowy

groupings

of

gaunt-limbed

trees; and the dull,

distant

rumour

of

feverish London

waits

on

the

still,

night

air.

The

lights

of

Hyde

Park corner

blaze

like some

monster,

gilded

constella-

tion,

shaming

the dingy

stars

;

and

across the East there

flares

a

sky-sign

a gaudy, crimson

arabesque.

And all the air

hangs draped in

the mysterious, sumptuous

splendour

of a

murky

London

night.

.

.

.

THE

city

disgorges.

All along

the

Strand,

down

the great,

ebbing

tide,

the

omnibuses,

a

congested press

of gaudy craft,

drift

westwards,

jostling

and

jamming

their

tall, loaded

decks, with

a

clanking of

chains,

a

rumble

of

lumbering

wheels.

55

IN

ST.

JAMES'S

PARK

January

15

IN

I'

I

IK

STRAND

January

27


68/96

56

Vignettes

IN THE

STRAND

a

thudding

of

quick-loosed

brakes, a

humming

of

hammering

hoofs.

.

. .

The

empty

hansoms

slink

silently

past ; the

street

hawkers

a

long

row

of

dingy

figures

vignettes crackanthorpe

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